Brothers and Sisters
by brennansboys
Summary: When Russ is accused of murdering a twenty seven year old woman, the ensuing investigation will uncover far more about Brennan's big brother than she ever bargained for. Will Booth, Brennan and the team be able to clear his name or will he end up behind bars?
1. A Familiar Face

**Chapter One: A Familiar Face.**

 **Welcome to my latest multi-chap case fic!**

 **This one is set 10 years in the future and I'll be posting once a week, every Sunday. Enjoy! :-)**

Booth groans as he arrives at his office on a cold, rainy Monday morning in Washington DC. His back is killing him and he would much rather be back in the countryside cabin where he and his wife had spent their anniversary weekend. Hell, he'd rather be anywhere other than here, stuck at his desk going through paperwork all day. The stack had amassed significantly on his desk during his mini-break and he's already dreading the prospect of working his way through all of it.

Reluctantly he sits down in his chair and sets his mug on his desk. Instead of logging into his computer – normally his first activity when he gets to work – he leans back in said chair and admires his surroundings. When he was promoted to Deputy Director of the FBI two years ago, he was granted a brand new office to go with his new job description. A new, much larger, much swankier office. He has the latest computer on the market, he can control his blinds from a remote without having to move an inch, allowing him more privacy during important meetings _and_ his chair has the best lumbar support in the Hoover Building.

 _Ha!_

He loves his promotion.

Of course, staple pieces from his old office had to be relocated to his new one. For example: pictures of his family, his hockey memorabilia and, obviously, his beloved Bobblehead Bobby that he'd been given by the cops at Scotland Yard all those years ago. No chance in hell was he leaving any of _that_ for Aubrey when the younger agent took over him as head of the Major Crimes unit. Although he misses his old job – and he really does, especially the fieldwork aspect – he feels comfortable knowing that somebody he trusts as much as he does Aubrey has replaced him in his role.

Speaking of, the still-scrawny, dark-haired agent comes sauntering into Booth's office, one hand casually resting in his pant pocket, the other holding a reasonably sized cardboard box that Booth assumes contains donuts of some variety. He's come to learn that bringing Booth unhealthy treats is Aubrey's favourite way of asking him something that's probably going to piss him off.

"Hey, Booth," he greets with a broad grin, gesturing the box in Booth's direction. "I have some presents for you."

"Let me guess: donuts," he says as he accepts the box nevertheless, opening it to reveal a set of six delicious looking donuts. There's iced (both strawberry _and_ chocolate flavoured), jelly and glazed. Booth has to admit that the younger agent has chosen well; they're his favourite sorts.

"I guess that's why you're Deputy Director of the FBI and I'm not. Well, that, and the fact you're older than me. _Way_ older."

Booth shakes his head at the teasing tone to Aubrey's voice. "I'm not that old, _pal_ , but since I am your boss, I could have you fired for making insulting comments about my age."

"Sorry, Booth. You look great – super young! I mean-."

"Stop." Booth holds up his palm, his eyes narrowing in a sharp glare. "Just stop. OK?"

"OK."

"Good. Now, what do you want? As you can see, I'm pretty busy here."

"I can see." Aubrey blows out a breath as he surveys the mess of filing and paperwork Booth has to sign off and organise. "I do not envy you one bit. I'd much rather have my gun," he says, patting the weapon in his holster.

"I'll use my gun on you if you don't spit it out."

Aubrey doesn't even flinch, having acclimatised nicely to the cantankerous agent's futile threats. He bounces nervously on the balls of his feet. "I have a case."

"I imagine you have many cases, Aubrey. You're a federal officer. Get on with it."

"Right. Um. I need – uh. I think I need your help with this one," he stutters, afraid of the older agent's reaction.

Booth raises his eyebrows. Aubrey is one of his most capable agents. He never asks for help unless the case is _huge_. Readying himself for an investigation filled with red tape and a million suspects, he easily agrees to assist his employee – and friend – in whatever capacity necessary.

"There's been a murder," he explains as he retrieves the folder tucked under his arm. He pauses before he opens it up. "It's pretty gruesome, so, you know. Just be warned."

"Thanks for your concern, Aubrey, but I've seen plenty of gross corpses in my time. You remember who my wife is, right? Come on, show me."

"Alright." He flicks the folder open and takes the set of crime scene photos into his hand. One by one, he lays them on the limited space in front of Booth, trying ineffectually not to react to the mutilated body before him. "It's a meaty one," Aubrey says, even though that is very much clear. Most of the flesh is still there – disgusting though it is – despite the insect activity that has evidently taken place. "As you can see, the corpse is riddled with bullet holes, here, here and here," – his finger points out the different close ups of the wounds – "and the face…"

"Has been completely bludgeoned to death," Booth finishes, pushing the donuts away from him, his appetite suddenly disappearing. "Wow. That's uh-. Wow."

"I thought you said dead bodies don't bother you anymore."

"I didn't say _that_ ," Booth quickly backtracks. "I just meant that-. I mean… I didn't think it would be so _violent_. Our killer must be completely deranged."

"The squints are all over it."

Booth chuckles softly. "They'll have a field day with that."

"Yeah, they will. Although, there might be too much skin for Dr. B to deal with."

"The flesh on the face has mostly gone so she'll be able to examine the skull and find the weapon, for sure. I imagine the rest of this delight will be left to Cam."

"Lucky her," Aubrey adds sarcastically.

"Yeah. So, you seem to have this all under control. What do you need my help with?"

"It's not the body that's the problem. An eyewitness at the crime scene was able to give Angela a detailed description of the killer. We have a sketch."

"That's great!" Booth responds, not understanding what the complication is. "That's more than I ever had at this stage in most of my murder investigations. Just run the face through all the major databases-."

"We don't need to do that. We already have an ID."

" _Huh_?"

Aubrey removes Angela's drawing from the folder and places it on top of the crime scene photographs. The sketch shows a man roughly in his fifties. He has short, dark hair greying at the edges, stubble and a strong jawline. With his brown eyes, the image portrays a familiar figure to Booth.

The younger agent waits for him to take it all in. When Booth's eyes – his pupils wide – catch Aubrey's, the tension in the office mounts. Aubrey decides to speak first. "Doesn't it look like…"

A lump forms in Booth's throat. "…Russ Brennan."

"Yes. Your brother-in-law."

* * *

Booth slams his fists against the steering wheel, frustrated as the traffic once again grinds to a halt. They've been stuck in the same queue of cars for the past half hour. So much for the urgency with which they'd ran out of the Hoover Building. Hadn't got them anywhere.

"Do you know where Russ is?" Aubrey asks out of the blue.

Booth's head snaps in his direction, his expression incredulous. "Are you kidding me? I'm stuck in this car with you and you're going to interrogate me about my brother-in-law's whereabouts right now. _Seriously_?"

"May as well pass the time productively," he answers with a shrug.

Booth cusses under his breath, not looking forward to this conversation. They're not even sure the sketch even _is_ Russ yet, let alone if he's the killer. Surely they should gather all the facts before they start a vendetta against the guy.

"So?" Aubrey presses. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," Booth snaps, edging his SUV forward ever so slightly then braking again. The car pulls to a standstill. "I have no idea."

"You sure about that?"

" _Yes._ I'm not covering anything up for him, if that's what you're thinking. I genuinely don't know where he is."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Last Christmas," he replies tersely. "Nearly a year ago. And he hasn't been in contact since about six months ago – not even with Bones, so don't think about questioning her when we get to the Jeffersonian. OK?"

"I need to ask these questions, Booth. He may be our killer."

"Exactly. _May be_. Innocent till proven guilty, right?"

"Right, but-."

"No buts," Booth interrupts, his tone sharp, aggravated as the traffic slowly moves forward, although not by very much. The rain beating down against the SUV, combined with Aubrey's incessant questions and the endless traffic jam are not making this journey to the Jeffersonian the most enjoyable Booth has ever had. "We're going to go to Angela – without saying _anything_ to Bones. She can run the sketch through the DMV database, see what it comes up with. _Then_ we'll decide how we proceed from there."

"OK. I am the primary here though, remember? I'm only asking for your advice because of your personal connection to the case. I can do as I see fit."

"And I'm your boss," Booth says, scowling at him. He turns the dial on his car's radio and rock music blasts out, quickly shutting up the younger agent.

They travel the rest of the journey without talking to each other, aside from Booth's occasional swears at the traffic's lack of progression. His ire is rapidly growing and, by the time they reach the Jeffersonian's parking structure, his neck is flushed red and his heart rate somewhere in the stratosphere. He jumps out of his SUV, slams the door shut and marches off in the direction of the Medico-Legal lab, yelling at Aubrey to move his ass faster.

They swipe their ID that allows them into the lab, Booth storming off towards Angela's office, Aubrey having to take his steps double-speed behind him in a fruitless attempt to catch up.

Booth doesn't even knock before entering Angela's workspace, barging in and giving the artist – who was entranced in one of her paintings – a fright.

" _Booth_? What are you doing here?" As she stands to face her friend, gravity causes fresh paint to roll down the front of her sky blue smock. "Is Brennan OK?"

"It depends which Brennan you mean," Aubrey says, joining the two of them, the agent completely out of breath after racing to catch up with his former partner.

"Temperance Brennan? His wife, my best friend? That's the only time he looks this heated, when she's in danger. Oh my God, is she in _danger_?" Her voice rises to a high-pitch, her throat constricting with fear.

"No. Not that Brennan." Booth grabs the folder in Aubrey's hands and shows Angela her sketch. " _This_ Brennan."

"Oh." Her mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. "It really looks like him, huh?"

"Yes, identical. I want to know if you're absolutely certain this is who the eyewitness described to you. I mean – maybe you drew Russ because you know him. It might not actually be Russ, just somebody similar to him?"

"No, Booth, I drew it three times. They all came out the same." She picks up two discarded sheets of paper lying on her desk and presents them to the two FBI agents. "The similarities are unmistakable. The mandible, the brow ridge, even the description of his hair. It's Russ, Booth. It's definitely, Russ. Running the image through the DMV database confirms it."

"It can't be. It's not him," he asserts, ignoring Aubrey's protestations. "I might not know where he is, but I know Russ and I know he would _never_ do this. He's a good guy now. He's got Amy and Haley and Emma and he wouldn't risk losing them. He was only in prison for thirty days and he _hated_ it. He wouldn't want to go back there. I'm telling you."

"Booth, the _sketch_ -."

"I don't give a damn about the sketch," he snarls. "Sorry, Ange," he then apologises quickly. "It's a good drawing. It's just-. I can't believe…"

"Neither can I. I don't want it to be him, Booth, but my witness sketches are usually extremely accurate."

Deciding to change the subject, lighten the mood, Aubrey wonders aloud why Angela isn't working on the case, nodding at her paint-splattered attire.

"The skull is too damaged for me to do a facial reconstruction right now, so I may as well create something beautiful to get over that guy's bashed in face," the artist defends.

Determined to figure out why the hell his brother-in-law is being accused of murder, Booth swiftly redirects the conversation back to the case. "Back to Russ. Did you show the witness a picture of him? Were they certain he's the person they saw?"

"I used that picture of Brennan and Russ you posted online from last Christmas. They were adamant it was him that they saw. 100%."

"And what exactly did they see?"

"They said they saw Russ get out of his car, pull a large body-shaped bag from his trunk and dump it behind a bush. They were in the parking lot when it happened. Nobody else around to corroborate their story."

Booth holds his palm up, stopping her. "Give me their number and I'll talk to them."

"Booth, I'm the lead on this case," Aubrey reminds him, insisting that _he_ be the one to actually _lead._

"Not anymore," Booth decides, pulling rank. "Is Bones on the platform, Ange?"

"Yeah. Brace yourself for the body. It's a nine."

The older FBI agent crinkles his nose in disgust. Nine meaning the second highest on their unofficial scale of the worst looking and smelling corpses. The water logged ones always top the list. A nine is still pretty awful. He turns on his heel and leaves, Aubrey trailing behind him, maintaining that this is _his_ case and that Deputy Director's don't work in the field.

"I do when a member of my family is accused of murder, Aubrey," he growls, aggressively swiping his ID card and jogging up the few steps to take him to the forensic platform. He sees his wife stood next to the body, kitted out in her blue lab coat and latex gloves, hair pulled back off her face, and closes the distance between them. "Hey, Bones. What've you got?"

"Booth!" Brennan looks up from her examination of the skull trauma, surprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"

"Aubrey asked for my help. What've you got?" He asks again.

"A whole lot of damaged tissue and not much else." Cam.

"Tell me about it," Aubrey says, pulling a face as the pathologist removes some of the vic's internal organs for testing.

"Well, once again, I – the undisputed King of the Lab – have something," Hodgins boasts, puffing up his chest. "The presence of calliphoridae and sarcophagidae suggest the vic has been dead around twenty four hours."

"So a missing person probably won't have been reported yet."

"No. As if ID'ing this guy wasn't going to be hard enough," Cam laments.

"There's no evidence to suggest this is a _guy_ , Dr. Saroyan. Our victim is quite clearly a woman. See the hair, the female sexual organs…"

"Guy can be a gender neutral term."

"Mmm," Brennan murmurs, disbelieving, as she returns to the skull, her thumb stroking the fractures to the bone. Angela can work some magic with her facial reconstructions, but it would be almost impossible for her to attempt anything here. Their victim is completely unrecognisable. "How is the investigation going on your end?" She asks Aubrey, glancing up at him. "Why did you need Booth's help?"

Aubrey exchanges a nervous look with her husband, unsure of what to reveal. Booth nods subtlety, giving him the go ahead. He clears his throat. "The eye witness was able to give Angela a good enough description for a sketch of the man they saw dump the body – who we're assuming is the killer."

"Isn't that good news? It's more than we normally have at this point."

The squints understandably look confused at the concerned expressions both Booth and Aubrey are wearing so openly.

"It's who the sketch looks like that's the problem," Aubrey elaborates.

"Did Angie do a bad job?"

"No, no… It just…" The younger agent falters and looks to his mentor for guidance. "Booth?"

Booth sighs. He had not wanted to be the person to announce this news to his wife, but they don't keep secrets between them. Regretfully, he knows he has to tell her. He touches his hand to the small of her back. "Bones, what I'm about to show you… We don't have all the facts yet, so just stay calm… Don't jump to any conclusions…"

"I have no idea what's going on."

Booth takes the drawing he'd dropped on the table when he first climbed up to the platform. He turns it over in his hands and shows it to his wife.

Her sharp intake of breath is audible and blood rushes to her cheeks. "Is this who I think it is?" She questions, her eyes darting to Booth's.

"Yes, Bones," he tells her, sadness infused in his tone. "This sketch implies that _Russ_ is our killer."

Cam's eyes are as wide as saucers. "Russ… As in…?"

"My brother," Brennan whispers.

 **Follow/Favourite/Review and all that jazz… I'd really, really love your feedback and it only takes a couple of seconds out of your day, so, pretty please? :-)**


	2. Sibling Drama

**Chapter Two: Sibling Drama.**

 **To the Guest reviewer that I couldn't reply to: there's plenty of examples on the show where they've continued to investigate the murders, despite the personal connections to the case. The Stiff in the Cliff being the most recent example, but there's literally dozens. Their relationship with Russ will have an impact on their role in the case later in the story, however, it IS fiction, and I'm allowed a little bit of creative licence.**

Silence engulfs the forensics platform, nobody knowing what to say or how to react. The news that Russ – Dr. Brennan's beloved brother Russ – could potentially be the killer sends shockwaves through the team. They all know him well; they're all very fond of him and his small family and vice versa. They've never had any reason to suspect him of being a killer before, so the prospect of him actually murdering this girl in front of them is debilitating. It takes a long while for everybody to process the information, process the fact that whatever forensic evidence they find could be the key that will lock Brennan's brother behind bars.

Brennan doesn't know how to respond. She can feel everybody's eyes on her and she doesn't like the feeling whatsoever. They've already investigated a murder involving her father in the past, and now _Russ_ is being accused of being a killer? It's inconceivable to her that her brother could take another life. It's simply not possible. And that's an objective fact.

Deciding to remain as objective and rational as she can, she continues her examination of the remains. She hangs up the X-Rays she'd taken before her husband had arrived on the platform and eyes the bones carefully, regarding every detail that could lead her to who this woman is.

Her finger indicating the area on the X-Ray, she says, "the pubic symphysis suggests our victim is in her mid to late 20s. Caucasian. And…" Her eyes diverting to the X-Ray of the skull, she notices an intriguing anomaly amongst the bones. Returning to the physical remains, she pulls the Mediocam over the left side of the skull, focusing on the ear. She purses her lips as she removes the anomaly from the bone using a pair of tweezers. She holds the material beneath the Mediocam, realisation dawning. "It's an artificial stapes," she explains to her co-workers who have been observing her actions with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. "Angela should be able to run the serial number and trace it back to our victim-."

"Giving us our ID. Nice work Dr. B." Aubrey.

Cam is not quite so relieved. "That's all well and good, Dr. Brennan, but we just found out your brother is probably the one who murdered this woman and you can immediately switch to talking about the _stapes?"_

"An artificial titanium stapes," she corrects. "They're surgically implanted when the patient's inner ear structure begins to deteriorate, resulting in a significant loss of hearing. The implant bridges the gap to the ear drum, allowing some hearing to return."

"Fine," Cam sighs. "How can you focus on an _artificial_ stapes considering the news you've just received?"

"I can focus on the remains because they will lead me to whoever this victim is. Especially seeing as the skull is so deformed and getting reliable dental results are improbable, this is probably the only way we're going to ID her. Once we know who she is, _then_ we can work out if Russ is involved. Our job is about discovering the truth, Dr. Saroyan."

"We know that, but this is _your brother_ , Dr. B." Hodgins.

"I'm just saying, if it was Felicia, I would _not_ be able to focus on the remains."

"Well, you and I are more different than I previously thought, then," Brennan declares. She's only being rational by trying to solve the case. Why can't her friends understand that? She shakes her head; it seems pretty simple to her. "I am only interested in finding out what really happened to this poor girl. If the truth is that Russ killed her, then I'll have to deal with that when I come to it. I'm not going to worry myself needlessly, OK?"

"OK," Cam murmurs quietly.

"Good. Now, if you'd excuse me, I made plans to meet with my children at the Royal Diner." Brennan lets down her ponytail and tugs off her gloves, balling them up in her hands and throwing them in the nearest trashcan. She hurries off the platform and towards her office to collect her belongings, pushing all thoughts of the case out of her mind.

There is no physical evidence yet that Russ is the killer and even if he _were_ , spending time with her children before their world is turned upside down seems like the right thing to do.

* * *

As Brennan approaches the diner that she and her husband have been visiting almost daily for over twenty years, she sees her sixteen-year-old daughter and her ten-year-old son sat at their usual table, bickering with each other as always. Brennan laughs lightly; like their parents, Christine and Hank are _extremely_ opinionated and stubborn and are not afraid to duke it out with their loved ones when they categorically disagree. (Which occurs more often than not.)

Christine takes after Brennan in the way she's so concerned with facts and the truth, whereas, like his father, Hank relies more on his "gut" and faith. As a result, debates in the Booth household can get pretty heated, pretty fast.

It's no different with their children. They adore each other, but they argue. _A lot_.

Increasing her pace so she can reach them sooner, Brennan is at the door to the Royal Diner in a few seconds and a wide grin blooms on her face when she opens it and Hank immediately shouts her over.

"Hey, you two," she says, planting kisses on both of their cheeks, ignoring the way Christine wrinkles her nose, embarrassed at how affectionate her mother is in such a public place. She sits down next to Hank, resting her arm on the back of his chair. "How are you?"

"Good. We've already ordered your veggie burger," Christine answers, earning a pleased, yet surprised, smile from Brennan.

"Thank you, sweetheart. Max was OK this morning?"

"Yeah, we didn't do much, just watched some TV, did some homework, you know…"

She arches an eyebrow, knowing her daughter all too well. "And did you finish _all_ of your homework before you started watching television?"

Christine averts her gaze.

"I take that as a no," Brennan says.

Hank, who has no qualms about ratting out his older sister, happily confirms his mother's suspicions. "She still hasn't finished hers, but mine is all done and packed in my bag."

"Well done, Hank. And Christine, I assume you'll be finishing yours as soon as you get home?"

"Definitely," the sixteen year old responds, a false smile on her face as one of the waitresses brings their food to the table.

Brennan shakes her head; she can read her children so easily. Although, they won't be children for much longer – they're both growing up so quickly. Christine is so tall and has started going to out to late night parties with her friends and has even started wearing make-up, which Brennan insists she doesn't need – she's so beautiful without it – but she wears anyway. And Hank is getting big too. He's playing hockey now in the Little League that Booth coaches in and he's getting _really_ good. Booth reckons he's good enough to go pro when he's older, but he would say that. He's been angling for one of his kids to become a Flyers player _forever_. Since Parker has taken a more creative writing route, and Christine interested in pursuing a science-related career, Hank is his last hope at having a superstar sports player. He's still got a long way to go, but they'll both be proud of him no matter what job he has. The same goes for all three of their kids. They've grown into beautiful, intelligent, kind people and that's all that really counts to Booth and Brennan. They're so fortunate to have such amazing children.

Honestly, she can't believe how old they are. Christine is _sixteen_ and Hank has just turned _ten_. She's reminiscing about the day the two of them first met (Christine had been completely and utterly enamoured with her new baby brother), when she's pulled abruptly out of her reverie by Hank's loud outcry.

Her eyes dart between the two of them, their eyes shooting daggers at each other. "What's going on?" She asks furiously.

"She hit me!"

"He was annoying me!"

"I was _not_ -."

"Guys," Brennan deadpans, not in the mood for the ensuing argument, particularly not when they're surrounded by all of the diner's regular patrons. She frowns at Christine. "Why did you hit your brother?"

"Because he's being an idiot!"

"I am _not_ an idiot."

"Don't call your brother an idiot," Brennan agrees. "That's not very nice."

"Fine. He's being ridiculous – is that better?"

"Not really, but proceed." She turns her attention to her youngest. "What were you doing, Hank?"

"Christine's going to a party next Saturday. All the popular kids from her school will be going but she won't let me come with her!"

"Because you're ten!" Christine argues, frustrated.

" _So_?"

"So, you're a baby. I'm not taking a baby to a party!"

Brennan narrows her eyes. This is the first she's heard of Christine's weekend plans. "What party?"

"Kiara's hosting a party at her house next Saturday night while her parents are away. Everybody's invited."

"She means Finn is invited and she desperately wants to go because she _luuuuvs_ him," Hank intones, snickering at his older sister's expense.

"Who's Finn?" Brennan questions, intrigued.

"Nobody."

Christine kicks Hank under the table, causing him to cry out again in pain.

" _Mom!_ She kicked me!"

She levels a disapproving glare at the culprit. " _Christine_. Stop hurting your brother."

"Well, tell _him_ to stop pissing me off!"

"Language, young lady," Brennan says sternly. Returning to the original issue at hand, she asks Christine if her father has given her permission to go to this party.

"No. I haven't asked him yet. But mom…"

"I'll consider it." She reaches over to steal a fry from Christine's plate, despite the ones in front of her. She pops it in her mouth and smirks. " _Sooo_ , who's this Finn?"

Hank grins as his older sister blushes wildly and buries her face in her hands. "He's the captain of the soccer team," he announces, taking a great amount of enjoyment from Christine's humiliation. He unlocks his cell phone and shows Brennan a picture of Finn with a besotted Christine, a smug expression on his face.

" _Soccer_? Your father is not going to like him," Brennan points out, amusement twinkling in her eyes as they lift from the photograph to her daughter's bright red face.

"He's not gonna like him anyway. Dad is so overprotective," she groans, much to Brennan and Hank's extreme amusement.

"Oh, I know, honey. I had to deal with it even before your father and I were a couple."

"He's so _annoying_."

"He means well," Brennan defends her husband. "It's because he loves you and doesn't want you to get hurt, that's all."

"Yeah, well, he takes it way too far! He got Uncle Aubrey to do a background check on the last guy that asked me out – Evan – _and_ got the FBI to follow him round. He's been avoiding me ever since. I'm never going to be able to date."

"Well, not never. Maybe when you're thirty," Brennan teases.

"UGH!"

Sitting opposite Christine, both Hank and Brennan burst into laughter. Before Brennan can ask for more details about Finn and the party, her cell starts to ring. "Speaking of the devil, it's your father." She accepts the call straight away. "Hi, Booth."

 _"_ _Hey, Bones. You OK?"_

"I will be. Don't worry about me." She catches the kids exchanging looks, both of them clearly wondering what their father has to worry about. They're both too observative for their own good sometimes.

" _I will worry, I always do, but OK. We have an ID for our victim_ ," he says.

"You do? Already?"

" _Yep. Abigail Brooks. We need to go notify her family. Want me to pick you up_?"

She glances at the time on her watch and realises it would be more efficient if Booth came to her, rather than if she drove back to the Jeffersonian first. "Yes, Booth," she answers.

" _Great. See you in 5. And Bones? I love you_."

"I love you too." She's smiling happily when she puts down her phone, her cheeks flushed pink and Christine doesn't hesitate to make fun of her mother's lovestruck expression.

"You can't really talk, sis. At least they're married; you look the same way whenever you talk about Finn and you're not even a couple!"

Christine swats humourlessly at him, causing Brennan to laugh jubilantly, despite her previous admonishments about her children getting physical with each other. She takes the right amount of bills from her purse and leaves them on the table as all three set about to leave the diner, Hank waving goodbye to the staff who've known him his whole life and are taken by the mini version of his father.

"We'll drop you off back at home before we have to go do some work things, OK?" Brennan says as they stand on the sidewalk waiting for Booth to roll up, the rain thankfully having eased up.

"Why's dad going with you?" Christine inquires, confused. "I thought you two didn't do that anymore."

Not wanting to divulge any potentially upsetting information with her children before they have all the facts, she simply says, "This could be a big case. The bureau wants your dad involved."

Just then, they see Booth's SUV pull up and they all get in. Booth and Brennan share a chaste kiss and then he takes her hand over the middle console, squeezing her fingers tightly.

Brennan doesn't miss the suspicious expressions on her children's faces. They know that _something_ is going on and they're both smart, it won't take them too long to figure it out. She just hopes that doesn't happen before she and Booth can explain it to them properly, or preferably, after her brother has been cleared. Although as Booth slowly drives into the DC traffic, she doesn't know when, or even if, that will happen.

* * *

Brennan can't help but admire the front door as they wait for the homeowners – their victim's parents – to answer their knocks. There's a beautiful stained glass window design set down the centre of the wood, a red rose extending towards the right, where the knocker lies.

She hears footsteps approaching and, seconds later, the door opens to reveal a gruff looking man with a greying beard and wrinkles emanating from the corners of his eyes.

His brow furrows at the sight of Booth, dressed in his smart suit, and Brennan, dressed in an equally formal manner. "Hello?"

"Hi, sir. Are you Mr Brooks?"

"I am," he replies warily, his hand resting on the door, ready to slam it shut at any moment. "Who are you?"

"Deputy Director Seeley Booth of the FBI," he says, flashing his badge, then gesturing to his wife beside him. "This here is my associate Dr. Temperance Brennan with the Jeffersonian Institute. We need to talk to you. Can we come in?"

"I suppose so."

Booth and Brennan exchange meaningful glances. Mr Brooks' expression is taught, mistrusting. He clearly doesn't want government officials in his property. They enter anyway and sit on the floral sofa opposite the one he sits at, with a patchwork comforter thrown over it.

" _Richard_?" Comes a frail, high-pitched voice. "Who's there?" The body attached to the voice enters their view moments later, clutching a saucepan in her hands, poised for attack.

"The FBI," he responds gruffly, his eyes narrowing in their direction.

"And the Jeffersonian Institute," Brennan adds helpfully. "I'm a forensic anthropologist, not a cop."

"Oh, that sounds interesting, dear. Let me go make you some coffee." The tiny, hunched over woman with the floral pinafore tied around the waist of her skirt returns to the room she'd appeared from – the kitchen, Brennan assumes – and her eyes begin to survey the living room around them.

It's a quaint little space, the design antiquated, but clearly well taken care of. Their belongings all seem to be organised onto shelves filled with rows and rows of hardback books, their trinkets lining the mantelpiece of the wood burning fire and their photograph frames taking up any other space remaining. Most of them capture a young girl as she's grown. Her hair is a stunning golden blonde, curled into tight ringlets in the older photographs and loosening into beachy waves as she's gotten older. The style of her clothing has changed with the times, as have the people surrounding her, but her facial features remain the same. Her smile, her sky blue eyes, her slim nose that turns up slightly at the end… These features most definitely belong to their victim.

"That's our daughter, Abi," the older woman says, reappearing in the living area. She places two mugs on coasters in front of Booth and Brennan and they thank her politely. Her expression contrasts to her husband's; her face is filled with warmth, kindness. Mr Brooks looks like he wants the two of them gone as soon as possible. Brennan's certain his dislike of them will only increase when they reveal the real reason for their visit. "She's really beautiful, isn't she? Abi?"

"Yes, she is," Brennan concurs, a smile inking onto her face as her eyes meet those of Abigail's mother.

"Do you have any children?"

Brennan's smile brightens as she thinks of Christine, Hank and Parker. "Three."

"Congratulations," Mrs Brooks responds as she takes the seat next to her husband. "I bet it's wonderful having so many little ones running about the place." She ducks her head, her happiness fading. "We could only have Abigail."

"About your daughter," Booth starts, "the reason we're here is because we have some difficult news. We're afraid that we've found your daughter's body and have positively identified her as Abigail Brooks."

" _Dead_?" The mother gasps, grabbing her husband's forearm. Her knuckles whiten, her breathing shortens and all colour drains from her face. "It can't be… I just talking to her the other day… H-how… How could this have… What happen…" Her voice trails off, her head shaking from side to side.

"We understand this is not easy to process, Mrs Brooks, but we suspect your daughter has been murdered."

" _Murdered_?" Abigail's father barks with laughter. It morphs into a hysterical wheezing sound, wet, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he laughs and laughs and laughs.

Brennan's eyes dart to Booth's. She's never known anybody _laugh_ in reaction to discovering their daughter has been killed.

"Murdered!" He shakes his head at his own remark, his laughter slowly ceasing as he comes to terms with what's been said.

"By who?" The mother squeaks, her pupils wide, dark.

"That's what we're trying to find out," Brennan says. "We're so sorry for your loss. I can't imagine…"

"Th-thank you, dear."

Booth and Brennan watch silently as Abigail's parents embrace each other protectively, the mother burying her face in the father's broad shoulders. They both shake, sobs wracking through their bodies and Brennan's heart metaphorically breaks for them.

"Uh, Mr and Mrs Brooks, we have some… difficult questions to ask you about your daughter… only if you're ready, of course."

Richard Brooks releases his wife just enough so that she can turn to face Booth and Brennan, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. His arm remains around her shoulders though as he draws comforting circles on her skin.

"We're ready," he decides and his wife nods firmly.

"Great. A witness described to our forensic artist the person they saw" – Booth looks at Brennan, his lips pursing – "or think they saw dump your daughter's body, meaning that we have a sketch of Abigail's potential killer."

Mrs Brooks' sharp intake of air is audible and stabs at Brennan's chest as she retrieves Angela's drawing from her satchel. She turns the picture to show them, steeling her emotions. "Do you know this man?"

Abigail's parents share terrified expressions. "This is her _killer_?"

"At this point, we believe so, yes," Booth answers, crinkling his nose. "Why? Do you know him?"

"Yes. That's her boyfriend – Kyle. Kyle Keenan."

 **Uh oh…**

 **Also, a fun fact: I have the same titanium implant in my ear as the victim!**

 **Follow/Favourite/Review and all that jazz… I'd really, really love your feedback and it only takes a couple of seconds out of your day, so, pretty please? :-)**


	3. Russ' Return

**Chapter Three: Russ' Return.**

"Sorry, did you just say her _boyfriend_?"

Booth sees all colour drain from Brennan's face and grabs her hand, squeezing it supportively.

Mr Brooks catches the action and furrows his brow in confusion. "Yes. Her boyfriend. Kyle. Is there something wrong?"

"No, no, no. Nothing wrong. It's just – this is a murder investigation, sir, and a lot of secrets will come out. Not all of them will be good."

"Secrets?" Mrs Brooks weeps. "About _Kyle_? No, there can't be. He seemed like such a nice man."

"Treated Abigail like the princess she was," Mr Brooks adds.

"So you have no reason to believe the man in this drawing could have done this to her?" Booth questions, while his wife remains silent at his side. A quick glance in her direction confirms that her eyes have glazed over, her brain whirring as she considers the concept of her brother cheating on his long-time wife. He can't wait until this interview is over so he can take her outside, talk things through with her.

"Absolutely not. He did not kill her."

"Not a chance," Abigail's mother agrees, haphazardly wiping away the tears that stream down her cheeks. "Kyle loved her. He told me so. He loved her. I can't believe…"

"It's OK, ma'am," Booth comforts, as he quickly finishes the coffee in his mug. He sees Brennan has barely touched hers, but that's understandable. Everything she thought she knew about her brother has been completely rocked, twisted upside down. Coffee would probably make her feel even more sick than she already does. "If I have anymore questions… Can I call?"

"Of course, dear." Mrs Brooks smiles at him through her tears and he smiles tenderly back as he removes a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket and hands it over to her.

"Here's my number. If you remember _anything_ – even if you think it's only a small, inconsequential detail – that could help us find your daughter's killer, please don't hesitate to call."

"We won't."

"Our condolences," Booth says again with a small shake of his head. He can't imagine ever being in their position, finding out their child has outlived them… It's so cruel, especially since Abigail was their only one. Losing any one of his children would end him, so he can understand how devastating this must feel. He's notified victims' families thousands of times by this point in his career, but it never gets any easier. Ever. Turning up on somebody's door, announcing that their loved one has passed away… been murdered… He hates it. It's the worst part of his job without a doubt. Even worse than paperwork and discovering the gross decomposed corpses, which is saying something. He hates being the one to give them the worst news they've ever heard, he hates having to sit there, stoic, as the victims' relatives cry and cry and cry. He thinks it's even worse when he has to tell parents that their children have been killed. As a father himself, it breaks his heart and makes him want to go home to his own children and never let them go.

"Thank you. You'll keep us updated on the case?" Comes the gruff voice of Mr Brooks, transporting Booth away from his emotional monologue and back to reality.

He nods sincerely. "Of course. Thank you for the drinks, for welcoming us into your home. We're sorry we couldn't bring better news."

"Very sorry," Brennan agrees, speaking her first words since Abigail's mother dropped her bombshell. Booth's eyes shift to his wife and he can tell she's on the verge of tears herself. So he stands, shakes the hands of Mr and Mrs Brooks, then leads Brennan out of their house, his palm resting casually on the small of her back as they trudge through the rain to his SUV parked on the side of the road.

Once they climb in, they just sit there, the rain coming down harder and faster against the windscreen. Neither of them says anything. Neither of them knows what to say, too shell-shocked to do anything other than wait in silence.

Brennan is eventually the one to disrupt it. "I can't believe…" Her voice fades away, her throat tightening. "I can't believe…"

"I know, Bones. This is crazy."

Their eyes meet and he can see the fear within them. It tugs at his heartstrings, seeing her so lost like this. It's been a long time. They've been so happy for so many years and it's as if the universe has suddenly decided to get them back, mix some drama into their lives that have been lacking it for so long. Except it's not a tiny dose of drama, it's full-on soap opera style drama. Completely over-the-top and ridiculous, but true.

Russ is their primary suspect in the murder of 27 year old Abigail Brooks.

Russ had been having an extra-marital affair with Abigail Brooks.

Russ was in love with Abigail Brooks.

Russ had been using his birth name – Kyle Keenan – when he was with Abigail Brooks.

They're all objective facts. But – unfortunately for Booth and Brennan – they paint a pretty damning image of somebody they love and care about.

"He wouldn't kill anyone, would he? And he couldn't cheat on Amy, _right_?" She asks him, desperation seeping into her tone. It's obvious that she needs assurance from her husband, however he's not so certain he can provide what she needs right now.

"I didn't think he was capable of either, but right now, it's looking very much like he was cheating. Everybody has secret lives from their families, Bones. They paint an idealistic view so their relatives won't judge them, but maybe all is not as it seems. Maybe we never knew him as well as we thought we did."

"Booth, this is my _brother_ ," she rebuffs. "He did _not_ kill Abigail Brooks."

"He may not have done, but he _was_ seen dumping her body _and_ was having an extra-marital affair with our victim using a name he hasn't been registered as since he was seven years old. Even you have to admit that's suspicious behaviour, Bones."

"Surely that makes Amy a better suspect than Russ!"

Booth stares at her incredulously. "You really think _Amy_ has the strength to bludgeon that woman's skull to smithereens?"

"OK, fine, it couldn't have been Amy, but I can categorically tell you that it wasn't Russ either."

"Bones…" He sighs, knowing when her voice gets all passionate like it just had that he's fighting a lost cause. She will protect her family come hell or high water. He understands, he'd do the same thing and God knows how much he let Jared get away with before he died. Unfortunately, Booth is also a federal agent. The Deputy Director of the FBI and, family ties aside, Russ is currently looking like their most credible suspect.

"You need to bring him in for questioning, don't you?" She says, her head downcast.

"I hate it, but yes. I do." He tucks his finger beneath her chin and raises it so she's looking straight into his eyes. He can see the moisture filling in hers and guilt stabs him in the chest. He hates that he has to do this, has to cause her so much pain when she's already been through so much in her life. "I'm sorry, Bones."

"I know," she responds softly. "You're just doing your job."

"Yeah. My job sucks sometimes."

She doesn't reply, simply nodding her agreement. She slips her hand into his and entwines their fingers together, letting her husband comfort her with murmured apologies and promises that everything will be OK.

* * *

An hour or so later, he's back in his office and Brennan back at home with the kids. She'd decided to reduce her work hours several years earlier, spending the time with the kids becoming her number one priority. Her interns are very well trained and perfectly capable. Besides, this victim is still mostly in tact and it's common knowledge his wife does not like the fleshy ones. Bones are her forte, so when there aren't that many bones for her to examine, she'd much rather be with Hank and Christine. He can't blame her. He'd prefer to spend time with his family above all else too, but Aubrey had specifically asked for his assistance in this case and since it's so personal to Booth, he feels like he can't just leave now.

He's sat in his chair, Aubrey on the other side of his desk, a mountain of photographs and background information and case files between them. They're both flicking through the folders, trying to find a decent motive or suspect anywhere… coming up empty. The only connection to her murder they can see is Russ. Or Kyle, as she thought he was called.

"Russ was _dating_ this girl?" Aubrey asks incredulously as they take a break, both sipping the coffee from their mugs.

"Mmhmm. According to her parents, he loved her."

"Isn't he married with kids?"

Booth nods non-committedly in response, this entire scenario getting him down.

"See, I don't get that."

He glances up at his partner, a questioning look in his eye. "Get _what_?"

"Why you need a sidepiece when you're already married. Surely the reason you marry someone is because you don't want to be with anybody else… Why then go and cheat on them?"

"I have no idea," Booth replies honestly. And he doesn't. He can't ever see himself being with anybody other than Bones; she's it for him. Russ had told him as much about Amy when they got married. He scratches the stubble on his jaw. "I still can't believe he'd _actually_ cheat on Amy. I really can't."

"What did the parents say? Did they think he could have been the killer?"

"Not at all. And neither do I," he feels the need to point out quickly. "But, objectively, isn't that a great motive? Mistress threatens to spill the beans about the affair, boyfriend kills her off in order to save his marriage-."

"That isn't what happened."

Surprised, Booth's head snaps up, finding Russ at the door to his office, his hair and outfit dishevelled, looking like he's just been through a hedge backwards.

" _Russ_." He stands and greets his brother-in-law with hug, clapping him on the back. It's been a long time and the two men have become very close since he and Brennan became a couple. "What's going on with you, man?" He asks, needing to catch up _anyway_ , especially now, with all that's happening with this murder case.

Russ glances over Booth's shoulder and sees all the case files laid out, the images of his lover, both alive and dead. He lets out a sigh. "I take it you know about Abigail."

"Yeah, she's lying on your sister's examination table right now. What the hell happened?"

Aubrey finally stands, keeping a cautious eye on his murder suspect. "Booth, don't you think we should take this into the interrogation room?"

"What? _No_. I didn't do anything!" Russ cries. "Who is this guy anyway?"

"Special Agent James Aubrey," Aubrey says, holding out a hand for Russ to shake. Unsurprisingly, Russ ignores him. Booth watches as Aubrey swallows, trying to remain cool and collected. "And we have a witness sketch that suggests differently, _pal_."

Booth steps between the two of them, feeling the need to defend his brother-in-law. " _Aubrey_. Stop."

" _Booth_ ," Aubrey deadpans in the same tone as his mentor, "he was seen dumping the body! Can you ignore something like that? 'Cause I sure as hell can't!"

"Aubrey-."

"I'm the lead on this case," he continues regardless, his hands firmly planted on his hips as he stares down the two family members. "It's my call whether I want to interrogate him and I _do_. A witness can place him at the scene, Booth! Be rational. I only asked for your help to figure out how to tell Dr. Brennan about Russ' involvement, not for you to run this case for me."

Russ' face pales. " _Tempe knows_?"

"Yes," Booth responds regretfully. "She's assisting on the case – we had to tell her. But she doesn't believe you did it and neither do I."

Russ pauses for a moment, thinking things through. Eventually, he says, "Can I go see her?"

"Yes."

"No."

" _Aubrey!_ I'm still your superior-."

"I know, Booth. Fire me if you want, but I need to do my job properly and in order to do so I have to interrogate Russ. He's our primary suspect right now – _our only suspect_."

"Fine, you can interrogate him. I still don't like this though." His expression is surly as he makes it very much clear that he doesn't approve of the vendetta Aubrey seems to be holding against Russ.

"Good. If you'll come this way…" The younger FBI agent leads Russ to the interrogation room, Booth following close behind. Aubrey opens the door for Russ to go in, then half-shuts it, needing a word with his former partner. "Are you going to be able to be objective in there, Booth?"

He sighs ruefully. "Why did I have to train you so damn well?"

Aubrey smirks as Booth skulks into the observation room and he into the intimidating interrogation room.

Booth watches through the one-way mirror as Aubrey begins by questioning Russ about his relationship with Abigail Brooks. His brother-in-law glances self-consciously at where he knows Booth is standing, listening, and explains in a low voice that he and Abigail had been having an affair for the past six months.

He already knew it was true – Abigail's parents had already told him about their daughter's boyfriend – but hearing Russ confirm the relationship with his own ears feels like a knife to the chest. He can already picture the fallout that's going to happen from this and his heart breaks for his sister-in-law and his nieces. Even if Russ doesn't go down for murder, this isn't going to be pretty.

"Was this relationship sexual in nature?" Aubrey goes on to ask.

"Yes," Russ answers truthfully.

Booth winces. This _really_ isn't going to be pretty.

"Abigail's parents informed Booth and Dr. Brennan this morning that you two were in love with each other, can you confirm or deny that?"

"We loved each other, but it was never like I loved Amy."

Booth thinks that last part was directed just for him.

"Was your wife aware of your relationship with Abigail Brooks?" Aubrey presses.

Russ shakes his head ashamedly, his eyes staring straight down at the table, unable to look his interrogator in the eye. A sign of a guilty man. "No, she was not."

"OK." Aubrey finishes scribbling his notes into the case file, then looks back up at the mechanic. "Can you explain why you called yourself Kyle Keenan when you were with Abigail and her family?"

Russ falters, his eyes darting back to Booth, then away again. "That's my real name, Agent Aubrey."

"Your real name?"

"Up until the age of seven, I was Kyle Keenan, Tempe was called Joy. Then, when our parents went on the run, my name was changed to Russ Brennan."

"So why did you use that name with Abigail then? Typically, it would suggest you have something to hide," Aubrey says, his stare hard, firm.

"It just came out when we first met and then I couldn't suddenly tell her that wasn't my name anymore, could I?" He covers his face with his hands and Booth feels really bad for him. Aubrey's interrogation is not letting up and his brother-in-law is getting torn to shreds. Just when Booth thinks it can't get any worse, his friend poses the normal question they have to:

"Do you have an alibi for Saturday night when Abigail was killed?"

"I was alone," Russ answers immediately. _Perhaps too quickly_ , a nagging thought in Booth's brain pops to the forefront. "However, Amy was out with a group of her friends and the girls don't live at home anymore, so there's nobody to verify it."

"So… _no_?"

"No. I guess not."

Booth grimaces, folding his arms across his chest as he stands behind the one-way mirror. It's not looking good for Russ.

"But I didn't kill her," he swears, his expression desperately pleading with the FBI agent to believe him.

He doesn't and continues to press. "No? Then what were you doing?"

"Watching the football game."

"Which teams?"

"Browns versus Eagles," he responds easily.

"Mmm. Interesting." Aubrey stands up and meanders around the interrogation room. He catches Booth's eyes and the Deputy Director knows _exactly_ what's about to happen. "I was watching that too. Great game," he comments casually, then pins Russ with his stare. "Who won again?"

"Browns."

Booth curses, his eyes squeezing shut. He reopens them warily, watching the scene play out while simultaneously trying to construct an explanation for his wife when he gets home.

"Eagles," Aubrey enlightens him, and then leans onto the table so he's right in Russ' face. "If you weren't watching that game, then what _were_ you doing?"

Russ sits back in his chair. "I may have disposed of the body in the park that night, but I did _not_ kill her."

"That's all right. I can still arrest you for that."

Booth turns around. He can't see Russ getting handcuffed. He just can't. As he stands in the observation room, racking his brain about what to do next, he can't believe this already horrible situation has just got one hundred times worse.

* * *

As he opens the front door, the delicious smell of lasagne wafts over to him and he lets out a sigh of relief. After the day he's had, a meal with his family is _just_ what he needs.

"Hiya, Bones," he says, spotting his wife and kids sitting at the table, their heads all twisted in his direction. He throws his jacket on the sofa and walks over to the table to greet Brennan with a chaste kiss. "Sorry I'm late."

"The case?"

"Yeah, yeah. The case." He sits down beside her and lifts the plate to reveal the vegetable lasagne they'd saved for him. "Mmm. Smells good, Bones."

"I helped make it too!" Hank exclaims.

Booth grins and ruffles his son's hair, before spearing the pasta with his fork and popping it in his mouth. He practically moans at how amazing it tastes. While he occasionally misses having beef in the lasagne, he's really come to appreciate his wife's vegetable alternative. "It's great. Well done, sport."

Hank preens, proud of himself, and Christine rolls her eyes. "Show off," she mutters exasperatedly under her breath.

Brennan gives her a disapproving look as she finishes off her meal. "Stop being mean to your brother."

"Well tell him to stop being so annoying," she grumbles.

" _Christine_!"

" _Anyway_ ," Booth begins, steering his children away from an argument he's too physically and mentally exhausted to deal with right now, "what were you getting up to while Bones and Hank were cooking?"

She lifts one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "Homework."

"You were _not_! You were texting your _boooyfriend_."

Christine glares at her younger brother, while Booth drops his fork to his plate with a clatter. "What boyfriend? I haven't heard of a boyfriend. What's his name? Does he have a record? I think I need to meet this punk-."

"He's _not_ my boyfriend," Christine maintains, cutting off her father's concerned ramble.

"But you want him to be," Brennan teases in a singsong voice. She and Hank high five each other, both of them delighting as the teenager groans and hides her face in her hands.

"So you're not dating him yet, but you want to? I still think I should meet the boy, you know, show him my gun safe. Maybe I should take him to the range, show him what an expert marksman I am."

" _Dad._ " Christine's eyes plead with her parents, her cheeks flushed hot.

"OK, we'll stop now." Brennan switches her attention to her husband as he wolfs the rest of his preferred Italian dish. "How was the rest of your day, Booth?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, chewing the food slowly as he contemplates how to tell his family without hurting them more than necessary. It's inevitable they're going to be upset, but he wants to damage control as much as he possibly can. He pauses. "Russ visited me in my office."

"Uncle Russ is in DC?" Hank asks, excited. He practically worships his uncle. " _Awesome_! When can we see him?"

"I don't know, buddy." His dark eyes lock with Brennan's, the reason _why_ they can't meet with her brother going unspoken.

She shakes her head frantically, her breathing shortening. "No, no, no! He couldn't-. This can't-."

"I'm so sorry, Bones," he whispers.

"What's wrong? Is he sick or something?" Christine.

"No, no, nothing like that. He's perfectly healthy." He trains his gaze on his wife, needing her to understand something. "It wasn't me, Bones. I promise you. I don't think he did it, but Aubrey-. He didn't have a choice, Bones…"

"What's going on?" Christine and Hank demand almost simultaneously.

Booth rests a comforting hand on Brennan's shoulder, realising he's not going to be able to keep this a secret much longer. Afraid of their reactions, he confesses: "Your Uncle Russ has been arrested."

 **This isn't looking too good for Russ…**

 **Also, I don't know anything about American football (being the oblivious Brit that I am) so I picked two teams at random when I wrote this chapter over a month ago. I was on Twitter this morning and I realised there was a Browns v Eagles game on today.. What a coincidence!**

 **Review? :)**


	4. Revelations and Reunions

**Chapter Four: Revelations and Reunions.**

" _What?_ " Hank and Christine shout in unison, both of them completely beside themselves. Brennan can't say she blames them; she understands exactly how they feel. She knows Booth is watching her, concerned about her reaction. He can't take his eyes of his wife, paralysed with shock.

"I'm so sorry, Bones," he apologies suddenly, squeezing her shoulder. "He confessed - Aubrey didn't have a choice. We should be able to go visit him tomorrow, if you want to, that is."

"I do."

"He confessed to _what_? What the hell is going on?"

Booth and Brennan share looks at Christine's distraught cry and realise they need to explain the situation to their children. They're both very keen on treating Hank, Christine and Parker like adults – not keeping secrets from them, ensuring they can cook, clean, etc. for themselves – and even though what's going on is _very_ adult and _very_ complicated, they feel that it's important to respect their kids and keep them in the loop.

The food has been abandoned, Christine and Hank watching their parents intently, waiting anxiously for the explanation.

Booth sucks his lips into his mouth and releases them with a deep sigh. "OK. Here goes. You know this latest case we're working?"

The kids nod.

"Mom said it was a big case and that's why the bureau wanted you involved."

"Your mother's right, as usual." He clears his throat. "A young woman has been brutally murdered and Aubrey came to me because a witness had described the killer – or the suspected killer – to Angela, who'd sketched him."

"The sketch was somewhat… disconcerting," Brennan says quietly.

"I don't know what that means," Hank responds, using his mother's infamous phrase as he scrunches up his face in confusion, bringing a small smile to Brennan's lips. He has a large vocabulary for his age – all three of their children do; they're very intelligent – but he doesn't know "disconcerting."

"It means worrying. Because, well… it looks like your Uncle Russ." Both kids audibly gasp as Booth takes Brennan's hand over the table in a show of support. He gently rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. She squeezes his fingers tightly.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my _God_."

"I know this is difficult to take in…"

" _Difficult to take in?"_ Christine repeats incredulously, a pool of tears welling in her eyes. Brennan's stomach sinks; her daughter is very strong – she's been through a lot in her relatively short life and as a result she's developed a thick, impenetrable skin. She rarely cries. So the fact that she feels upset enough to cry is extremely significant to Brennan – and distressing. She hates seeing her children like this. She absolutely hates it.

"Has he been arrested for murder?" Hank asks, also on the verge of tears. His little voice sounds terrified and Brennan just wants to wrap both of them up and keep them away from the storm that's ravaging through their family's lives.

"No. Not yet."

"I haven't had time to find cause of death yet or find any evidence that suggests Russ – or anybody else – killed this woman. The FBI can't issue any murder charges until we have forensic proof."

"However, your uncle did admit to dumping the victim's body, so that's what he's been charged with for now," Booth finishes her sentence.

"I'll be able to get him out on bail tomorrow… but…" Her words trail off and she glances at her husband for assistance, her voice failing her. It's difficult enough for her, but to tell her beautiful, innocent children that their uncle is a viable suspect in the murder investigation of Abigail Brooks? She can't bring herself to do it.

Booth, noticing her forlorn expression, steps in to help out. "He has no alibi and a pretty good motive."

" _So he did it_?"

"No, son, that's not what we're saying. We have no proof of anything yet; it's too early in the game right now. It's just that it's looking highly likely that he could be charged with murder and we need to start preparing ourselves for what happens if he is."

"Oh my God," Christine repeats, horrified. "Uncle Russ couldn't kill anyone, could he?"

"Not at all," Brennan reassures her. If there's one thing she's learnt from her husband, it's to have faith in the people you love and care about. And that's what she has in Russ. Faith. Trust. Complete support. While she acknowledges the fact he was having an extramarital affair – that much is indisputable now, Booth heard him say it with his own ears – murder? That's simply not possible. Russ has his issues and his flaws, like everybody else, he's not perfect, but he is _not_ a murderer. "We just have to follow every avenue of investigation. When this case goes to court, the defence will try to spread reasonable doubt, so we have to be 100% sure that we are convicting the right man, or woman, for the murder."

"And that man could be Uncle Russ…" Hank murmurs, wiping away the salty wetness that trails down his cheek.

"What's the motive?" Christine.

Brennan doesn't want to tell them, and neither does Booth, by the look on his face. She _knows_ they don't hide things from their kids and she _knows_ honesty is the best policy and it would be better for Hank and Christine to find out from their parents before it hits the news and they find out through someone at school, but still. It's also in their best interests if they don't find out, if they don't have the image of their beloved uncle tainted.

"It can't be worse than discovering my uncle has been arrested because he disposed of a dead body, can it?"

Brennan's eyes meet Booth's and she shrugs imperceptibly. Christine is right. They deserve to know. "We'll tell you," she says, swivelling her head to face her distressed children. She's never seen them like this before, but she knows this is nothing compared to how they're going to react to the next piece of news. "You have to promise to keep this a secret though, OK? These words don't get spoken to anybody else. Understand?"

"We understand."

Squeezing Brennan's hand tighter, Booth takes the lead on this one. "You know the victim? Well, as it turns out, Russ has been having an affair with her for the last six months."

" _What?"_

"What's an affair?" Brennan hears Hank hiss to his older sister.

"It means he's been having a romantic" – and sexual, she thinks bitterly – "relationship with another woman."

"Who's not Auntie Amy?"

"No, Hank. I'm afraid not."

"Does she know? Auntie Amy? Has she found out yet?" Christine worries.

"Not yet, so we've got to keep our mouths zipped shut, mm'k?" Booth gives them serious, warning looks. "This will be hard enough for her as it is, we don't need her finding out from her niece and nephew rather than her husband, huh?"

"OK, dad." Hank pinches his thumb and forefinger together and makes the motion of zipping his lips together and tossing the key over his shoulder.

Brennan purses her lips, trying not to cry at her sweet, sweet boy.

Hank, seeing how visibly upset his mother is, stands up, walks over to her and leans into her side. She wraps one arm around him and one arm around Christine when the latter joins them, allowing two of her four favourite people to comfort her.

"Love you, mom," the sixteen year old whispers.

"I love you more," Brennan returns as Booth watches on affectionately. Frankly, he has no idea how Russ could cheat on Amy. Booth's wife and kids mean the world to him. Why would Russ risk losing his?

* * *

Tuesday morning brings much brighter conditions to the DC area. The rain has dried up, the sky is blue with only the rare Cirrus cloud, and the sun is shining. Heat is beating through the glass ceiling of the Jeffersonian Institute and Brennan has to roll up the sleeves of her blue lab coat as she, Cam and Angela leave the break room and head towards the forensics platform.

"We told the kids about Russ last night," she says out of the blue.

Cam's pupils widen. "How'd they take it?"

"About the same way I'd expected."

"Not great, huh?" Angela replies, grimacing.

"Not at all. Amy and Russ have been married for longer than Booth and I. They can't understand how he cheated on her with this girl, never mind the possibility that the uncle they adore is a killer."

"And how are you taking it, Brennan?" Angela questions, concern for her best friend etched deeply into her expression.

The anthropologist shakes her head, chewing on her lower lip. "I don't know what to think."

"Will you see him? Maybe if you see him-."

"Booth's bringing him here later once he's been released on bail." Brennan swipes her ID card and they climb up to the platform, her professional, rational side returning. "Anyway, enough about Russ. We need to examine these remains with an objective eye. We can't think about a potential suspect. We have to view everything impartially, that's how we solve all of our other murders and this one should be the same, whether I am related to the prime suspect or not, OK?"

"OK," Cam and Angela say, exchanging nervous looks behind Brennan's back. She seems very on edge, not herself, which is totally understandable, but they're still worried. She's the key member of their team. They need her to think clearly in order to find Abigail's murderer and they just hope she can stay that way, despite everything so far pointing an accusing finger right at her brother.

Hodgins is already beside Abigail's remains as they approach, his arms outstretched as he swabs for particulates around the gun shot wounds, head injuries and beneath her fingernails. Trace evidence could suggest where she was killed or what she was killed with.

"Found anything?" Cam asks inquisitively, pulling on her latex gloves to begin further examination.

"Yes, this," he says, lifting a faded napkin from the pocket of the torn and bloodied victim's shirt. "Perhaps this could tell us where she last ate before she died?"

"Maybe she was there with her killer. Somebody might be able to ID them. Excellent idea, Hodgins." Angela holds out a tray and her husband places the napkin carefully onto it. The artist-come-computer-nerd leaves the platform for her office where she can scan it into the Angelatron and hopefully enhance the establishment's logo.

Snapping her own gloves on, Brennan picks up Abigail's skull for analysis. It's severely damaged. Blunt force trauma, she concludes, from the radial shape of the fracture patterns. Large parts of the facial bones are missing, like they've been smashed in.

"Overkill?" Cam suggests, glancing up from her position near the torso.

"No." She moves the Mediocam over the damage to elaborate. "There's a lack of remodelling that implies this occurred post-mortem. There's also no haemorrhagic staining, see?"

"So the blows to the skull were not cause of death."

Disappointment swells within her. "No. We need to look elsewhere. It was most likely the gun shots."

"If the killer didn't damage her skull to kill her, was it done to obscure identity?" Hodgins wonders aloud.

"We shouldn't rule that out, but most of the teeth are still in tact, so I don't think the killer's intention was to hide identity. Dental work is the most accurate way of ID'ing a set remains."

"Then what were they trying to do?"

While she doesn't _typically_ theorise, Cam asked, and she can't help but respond. "I think this killer knew the victim and the bludgeoning of the skull occurred so they didn't have to see the familiar face staring back at them, making them feel remorse."

"Your brother knew the victim."

Brennan takes in a sharp breath, before saying, "Yes. It seems he did." Silence stretches out between the three of them as they each collect their thoughts. Brennan shuts her eyes, sighs deeply, and moves on to the gun shot wounds. "The body is riddled with bullets. It appears the murderer had some serious pent up rage he released on poor Abigail."

"Yes," Cam concurs. "The blood staining on the clothing suggests this wound" – she points to a hole in the sternum – "would have been fatal. The others were just for… I don't know what."

Brennan considers this for a long while. This killer continued to relentlessly injure the victim, even after death. Using her many years working with the FBI to solve crimes, she knows that could suggest overkill or the fact that the murderer is inexperienced. They've never taken another human life before and therefore don't know which places to shoot, which arteries to sever. Equally, it could be a mixture of both, but that doesn't get them anywhere.

She's brought out of her skeleton-induced trance by the loud shout of "BONES!" from behind her. Knowing it can only be one person she spins around to find her husband and her brother entering the lab. She rushes towards them and the first thing she does is slap Russ sharply across the cheek. " _What the hell is wrong with you_?"

Booth's mouth drops open. "Bones!"

"It's OK, Booth," Russ says, rubbing his stinging red skin. It looks like it really hurt. _Good_ , Brennan thinks scathingly. "She's angry, I get it."

"I am so far past angry, Russell Brennan," she snaps, all of the tension she's been feeling reaching its peak. "You disposed of a _corpse_? You're a _murder suspect_? You were having an _affair_?"

She's not exactly being quiet, attracting quite a few interested looks from all around the lab. She may not notice the attention, but Russ certainly does; he's feeling downright mortified about his younger sister's very loud, very public outburst. "Tempe, please, can we go somewhere a little more private?"

"Come on, Bones, let's go to your office. The squints don't need a show," Booth agrees.

She reluctantly complies and storms off in the direction of her office, expecting her husband and brother to follow her lead.

Booth races to catch up with her. "Be nice," he hisses in her ear once he's by her side.

"I resent the implication that I'm not always nice."

"You are. You know you're nice and I love you very much. You're just not always…"

She arches an eyebrow.

"Sensitive?" He tries.

" _Sensitive_? Booth, he-."

"I know. Just-. Go easy on him, OK?"

"Fine," she says begrudgingly, entering her office. She and Booth sit on the sofa, almost no space between them as she seeks comfort only her husband can provide her with. She added a new two-seater sofa for the kids once they got older and Cam allowed more frequent visits to the lab; Russ sits on that sofa, clasping his hands in his lap.

"I'm starting to feel like a criminal the way you're glaring at me here, Tempe," he remarks, fiddling with his hands.

She feels the need to correct his erroneous statement. "You _are_ a criminal."

"Bones…" Booth warns.

Brennan rolls her eyes. She wishes her husband would stop defending Russ like this. "He spent last night in custody, didn't he?"

"Yes, but-."

"Therefore he's a criminal," the anthropologist concludes, the hurt evident in her tone.

"Tempe, please, hear me out-."

"I have nothing to say to you," she spits angrily. "I can't believe you'd do this. After everything we've been through with mom and dad going on the run… abandonment… mom's murder… dad's murder investigation… We were finally happy and you just decided to _kill_ someone? Throw it all away?"

" _I didn't murder, Abi_!"

"Oh, so it's Abi, is it? The name of your mistress?"

"This isn't exactly going easy on him, Bones," Booth points out in hushed tones.

"What does he expect me to do? Throw my arms around him in a hug for cheating on his wife?"

Since his previous attempts to convince her of his innocence, Russ tries a new tack. "Tempe, Amy and I have been having problems in our relationship for some time…"

 _Marital problems? That's his excuse?_ She thinks disbelievingly. He's being ridiculous – trying to spin the blame so his affair becomes Amy's fault. Honestly, she's beginning to feel like maybe she didn't even know her brother at all. The Russ she knew – or thought she knew – would have talked to her, or their father, or a professional, or _somebody_ , he wouldn't have just slept with the first woman he could find.

"So?" She says eventually, frowning in disappointment.

"So she was pushing me away! I couldn't do anything right, I was just getting yelled at all the time, left out from things! I needed to get drunk after she kicked me out of the house one night when we'd had a particularly bad argument. I went to this bar and I met Abi…"

"If you tell me one thing led to another, I'll throw up." Brennan.

"But it did! Tempe, even you've said that monogamy is unnatural."

She shrugs, glancing at her husband next to her, her hand reaching out for his. "I was proven wrong." While once upon a time she'd thought that love was simply a chemical process that didn't exist, meeting Booth, falling in love with Booth, she's realised that many of her prior opinions on love and relationships are simply not true. No other man holds a candle to her husband. And she could never imagine a future where she's not in a monogamous relationship with him. "Besides, I was never married with kids when I was seeing more than one man at a time. They were casual relationships, nothing serious. It's completely different."

"Is it? Surely there's some tribes out there that tell you it's possible to love more than one person at the same time."

"Perhaps, but in North America that's just an excuse people use to condone cheating. If you really loved either one of them, you'd be fully committed and you know that's true."

"She has a point, Russ," Booth agrees supportively, entwining his fingers with Brennan's. "And you used your old name so you obviously thought you had something to hide."

Before Russ can formulate a response, Angela knocks on Brennan's door. Three heads turn towards her. "I have a result for where our victim ate right before she was murdered."

"Go ahead, Ange."

"Pablo's Pizzeria," she reads from her tablet, squinting as she reads the address in smaller print. "It's in-."

"Georgetown," Russ finishes, his eyes wide.

All attention redirects to him, Booth, Brennan and Angela's brows furrowed.

"How did you know that?" Booth questions.

"That's where Hayley works. I go there all the time."

 **Dun dun duuunnnn!**

 **I might be going on a fieldtrip with uni next weekend so chapter 5 (which I have yet to write) will probably be uploaded on either Thursday (22** **nd** **Sept) or Monday (26** **th** **Sept). Stay tuned!**

 **Also, please, please, please leave a review if you enjoyed this chapter. They motivate me to write faster/better. :)**


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